The Curse of Lono - By Hunter S. Thompson Page 0,31

had to be done. . .

Ralph and his family had never been west of San Francisco and the only palm tree they'd ever seen was on the Universal lot in Hollywood. . . But now, as Christmas approached, they found themselves marooned in a wooden shack on the edge of some barren wave-whipped black rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, with nobody speaking their language and estranged from even their closest friends.

The British are very sentimental about Christmas. They want the snow and the slush of England, diseased beggars ringing bells on every street corner, news of food riots on the telly, the familiar sickening chill of a stone home with no furnace and the family huddled cheerfully around a pot of burning coal on Christmas morning. They are not comfortable with the idea of Saint Nick coming in on a surfboard with a sack full of cockroaches and a TV Guide filled with nothing but incomprehensible American "football" games for the next two weeks.

Some days later Cook learned that the king of Hawaii, no less, had arrived at Kealakekua and was to visit him. James King was at this time stationed ashore in command of the encampment to ensure its security. He had had no troubles at all from the natives. The natives would sometimes sit on the wall watching the incomprehensible activities of Bayly and his assistants and the impressive activities of the carpenters with their wonderful tools that could work timber with such seeming ease and accuracy.

The escorting chiefs, dressed in elaborate cloaks and hats, began to sing as they approached the Resolution , chanting with great solemnity, and then standing up. As they came near, the reception party on board observed that the second canoe held also High Priest Koa, hunched and shaking as always, elaborately attired and surrounded by hideous busts made of basketwork. These were covered with multicolored feathers, the eyes represented by pearl oyster shell, the distorted mouths filled with the teeth of dogs.

The king himself remained seated when his canoe came alongside the gangway. He was dressed in a magnificent cloak and with an equally magnificent feather cap on his head. The chanting died, a voice called out. It was suddenly clear that the king had come out only to escort Cook to the shore, where the ceremonies were to take place, and would not again be coming on board.

Cook was pulled ashore in his pinnace, King had already turned out the marines' guard, who made their usual dishevelled and sloppy showing. The formal meeting was to take place in Bayly's largest tent, and the lieutenant observed carefully the king and his entourage as they approached from the shore. Flanking the king were his sons, and following behind a number of chiefs; the king's nephew Chief Kamehameha, a ferocious-looking individual with his long hair plastered all over with paste and powder; a particularly vigorous and important looking Chief Kalimu; another muscular individual, Chief Ku'a, and several more. A parade as formidable as it was bizarre.

King watched Cook waiting patiently for the ceremonies to begin, a weary expression on his face, towering above all these islanders in spite of his middle-aged stoop. Then the king stepped forward, standing erect and without assistance but shaking all over as badly as High Priest Koa.

It was not until this moment, when in turn the king tore off his cloak and put it around Cook's shoulders, and then lifted his hat and placed it on Cook's head, that he exposed his face for the first time. Like the high priest's, it was peeling and covered in sores, the eyes were red and watery, but the expression through the ravages of kava was happy and benign.

To the lieutenant's astonishment, the King of Hawaii was none other than the Terreeoboo they had met off Maui: it was King Terreeoboo receiving the great god Lono himself.

Richard Hough

The Last Voyage of Captain James Cook

SOUTH POINT

We had been trying to take his boat out for almost a week, but the sea was so rough that there was no point in even leaving the harbor. "We could probably get out," he said, "but we'd never get back in."

After a week of bad drinking and brooding, Captain Steve finally came up with a plan. If it was true that the weather was really turned around, then logic decreed that the normally savage waters on the other side of the island would now be calm as a lake.

"No problem," he assured me. "It's